


tap in (breathe out)

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Choking, Degradation, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 17:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There are good ways to handle feeling ignored by your boyfriend, and then there's Taeyong's way.





	tap in (breathe out)

The impact of the first slap is enough to make sparks dance behind his closed lids and bring the situation into focus.  His bony knees are already aching against the unforgiving hardness of the dirty laminate floor of the tiny one-toilet bathroom.  The door is locked and Dongyoung is asking for his color and he knows he’s _finally_ going to get what he wants.

 

“Green,” he says without hesitation, already a little breathless.  “Fucking, green. Get on with it, unless you want me to go see if that guy at the bar will–”

 

The second slap, he sees coming from a mile away.  He lets his jaw hang open as the tingling sting spreads across his cheek.  It’s warm, not yet scalding, but they’ll get there. He hopes his face will be burning red when Dongyoung is done with him.

 

“A slut like you _would_ do that,” Dongyoung accuses.  “Don’t care who’s fucking you.”

 

The sincere part of Taeyong wants to shake his head and assure Dongyoung that, _no, only you, I only ever wanted you_.  But the game is in full swing now, so he might as well play along.

 

“But _you’d_ care,” he challenges, voice already fraying at the edges.  Dongyoung bites his tongue around a reprimand, but his eyes harden.

 

Taeyong doesn’t like being bad – not in the way he had been earlier. The beauty of his relationship with Dongyoung is that he doesn’t have to ask for things that Dongyoung is happy to give.  But more than that, he understands Taeyong’s limits and how to stretch them to a breaking point, understands that sometimes Taeyong wants things he can’t ask for.

 

Tonight, Dongyoung wasn’t getting the memo.

 

Maybe Taeyong was taking it a little to personally, sulking a little too hard when Dongyoung seemed much more interested in shooting the shit with Taeil and Yuta than paying attention to Taeyong.

 

And maybe – okay _definitely_ – it was an overreaction to stalk away from their booth after two hours of Dongyoung’s hands moving animatedly when he talked, gripping his quickly warming bottle of beer, basically _anything_ but touching Taeyong.

 

And, yeah, it was really sort of an underhanded dick move to approach a likely looking stranger and fumble through some fake flirting.  And maybe leading on some random guy knowing full well – hoping, even – that he’d be on the receiving end of Dongyoung’s jealous streak was absolutely and underhanded dick move.  But desperate times, desperate measures.

 

And Taeyong _was_ desperate

 

So he was handsy, and pretended to be tipsier than he was, and spoke in a low voice to hide the nervous tremor just as much as to seduce.  It was a bit awkward, and Taeyong was honestly surprised it was working.

 

But it got Dongyoung’s attention.  Before long, there was a line of warmth pressed firm against his back.  The stranger looked less than impressed with the way Dongyoung curled an arm around Taeyong to draw him close.

 

“I need to speak with my boyfriend,” he shouted over the din of the bar.  Taeyong didn’t catch the stranger’s reaction. He was too busy watching Dongyoung’s anger in profile, taking in the hard set of his jaw, the low light catching in the sweat on his neck.

 

Dongyoung didn’t grab him and drag him away.  All he had to do was look Taeyong in the eyes and walk off.  It took some serious restraint on Taeyong’s part to keep from smiling.

 

So here they are, locked in a less-than-clean bathroom, Taeyong on his knees with his ears ringing from the slap.  He likes it like this – mean, and maybe a little brutal. It’s rough, but they’re careful with each other.. He’s safeworded out of more than a few situations, and Dongyoung has always stopped for him.

 

He doesn’t think he’ll need to stop tonight.

 

There’s a hand in his hair, dragging him forward, and a cock pressing against his open mouth.  Dongyoung hesitates for a second, so Taeyong takes the initiative and surges forward.

 

They have to make it quick, he thinks.  The door is locked, but that doesn’t mean someone won’t come knocking.

 

Once Taeyong gets as much of Dongyoung in his mouth as he can, the momentum quickly overtakes him.  The hand is still at the back of his head, tangled in his sweaty hair and pulling him back and forth.  Dongyoung isn’t fucking his mouth – Taeyong _prefers_ that, so it wouldn’t be much of a punishment.  But Dongyoung sets the pace all the same, pushing and pulling Taeyong.  Using him like a toy.

 

“Couldn’t just ask for this, could you?” Dongyoung teases, and it sets something off in Taeyong.  He _had_ been asking for it, practically begging for it if Dongyoung paid enough attention to him to read between the lines.

 

The door rattles against its lock, startling Taeyong enough to ruin the rhythm and make him choke.  Distantly, he can hear a muffled voice, someone shouting over the hum of music outside, but the rushing in his ears deafens him to every sound except for his panicked gagging and Dongyoung’s quiet ragged moans.

 

It’s too much, way too much, and his lungs tighten uncomfortably around the vacuum of oxygen.  He tries to jerk away on instinct, but Dongyoung’s hand is curled around the back of his head, keeping him in place, deliberately choking him.  

 

Taeyong grasps the waistband of Dongyoung’s jeans where they’re shoved down around his thighs, ready to give the three taps that will tell Dongyoung he wants to stop.  But he _doesn’t_ want to, not when his jaw is aching and his throat feels raw and his vision is peppered with patches of darkness dancing with brilliant light.

 

His fingers twitch.  It feels like the head of Dongyoung’s cock has been plugging his throat for fifteen minutes now, though it can’t have been more than fifteen seconds.  Every involuntary swallow makes it feel too heavy, too thick. Dongyoung is moaning quietly above him, whispering something that might be praise. Taeyong doesn’t want this to end, but it has to.  He’s just about to tap out when Dongyoung _finally_ yanks his head back.

 

A wet gasp pours over his wet lips.  Everything feels wet now – saliva and precome and sweat all decorating his face, making him shine.  He feels ruined and they’re not even halfway finished.

 

While he catches his breath, Taeyong sneaks a hand down to press against the tent in his jeans.  He’s so hard it hurts. It barely gives himself any satisfaction, but he keeps it up until Dongyoung notices.

 

It would be a lie if Taeyong said he didn’t _want_ him to notice.

 

Dongyoung slaps him again, and the shout it startles out of Taeyong has him blushing under the sting.  He knows it’s too loud out in the hall for anyone to hear them, but he imagines it anyway. Imagines a stranger hearing his voice echoing off the walls and knowing _exactly_ what he’s doing.

 

“You know you’re not allowed to do that,” Dongyoung says, thumbing at Taeyong’s pink cheeks with surprising tenderness.  “You _know_ that.”

 

He pulls his hand back and looks down at the black mess smeared across it and Taeyong realizes that his eyeliner must be smudged and running, and if his eyeliner is running –

 

Jesus, he didn’t even realize he _actually_ started crying.

 

“I know,” he mumbles, voice small and heavy with embarrassment.  And then, “Do that again.”

 

“Speak up,” Dongyoung chides, still looking down at the mess on his hands in a way that’s cold and dismissive.

 

Taeyong takes three deep breaths and hopes that the pause is enough time for Dongyoung to realize what he wants.  He does that sometimes – knows what Taeyong needs without being asked for it. But this time, he doesn’t give Taeyong an easy out.  He just strokes Taeyong’s hair, strangely tender after what they were just doing, and waits.

 

“Please,” he says, as firm as he can, “Choke me again.”

 

“Like this?” Dongyoung smirks and strokes his long fingers down Taeyong’s throat.

 

Taeyong shakes his head.  “With your–”

 

He’s embarrassed to even _think_ it.

 

“With my…?”

 

“I fucking hate you,” Taeyong mutters.  With your – your c-cock. Choke me with your cock.”

 

If he wasn’t so worked up and desperately horny he’d probably break into giggles right about now.  There’s a smile twisting Dongyoung’s mouth that makes Taeyong think they’re on the same page here.

 

“I think I can do that,” Dongyoung says graciously, and then nudges his cock against the soft gape of Taeyong’s lips.

 

There’s no playing coy when Dongyoung holds his head still and pushes into his mouth.  It feels somewhere between a tickle and an itch when it touches the back of Taeyong’s throat.  He struggles against the urge to cough as Dongyoung starts grinding his hips in lazy circles.

 

When another knock and a muffled shout rattles the door, Taeyong downright whimpers.

 

A breathless laugh rolls out of Dongyoung’s chest as he leans back against the wall.  “Maybe I should unlock the door for them,” he says, running a hand through Taeyong’s hair, “Maybe I should show everyone how good you can be when someone makes you behave.”

 

Taeyong whines, but it comes out guttural with a throat full of cock.  He wants to stamp his feet and insist that he _has_ been good, he’s been a model fucking citizen, and Dongyoung is the one doing ridiculous things like not putting out for ages.

 

Now Taeyong is sort of petulantly annoyed.  He decides to tap out, and Dongyoung pulls back immediately.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks softly as Taeyong turns his head and coughs a bit.  “Was I too – oh, _ahh–_ ”

 

Taeyong might not be the Celebrated Dick Sucking Champion of Seoul, but he knows what to do to make Dongyoung come.  It’s a bit sloppier than usual, but you can hardly fault the guy when his brain is mostly static and he’s so hard he’s close to dry humping Dongyoung’s leg.  But it’s still good – or at least good enough that Dongyoung threads his fingers through Taeyong’s hair and lets out a desperate little groan.

 

The wordless noise is as much praise as anything that’s ever come out of Dongyoung’s mouth.  Taeyong feels proud about the way Dongyoung falls apart above him, shuddering and moaning like his body is Taeyong’s to use.

 

Funny how things can turn around so quick.

 

“Babe,” Dongyoung stutters, “I’m–”

 

Taeyong knows what that means, so he pulls back until just the head is in his mouth and looks up at Dongyoung with his wide, messy, dark eyes.  He can imagine what he looks like – face blotchy red from being slapped, eyeliner smudged all to hell. It’s just the way Dongyoung likes him. A little ruined and a lot wild.

 

It only takes a little bit of coaxing with his tongue around the head to make Dongyoung shake apart and spill straight into his mouth.  Taeyong fights the urge to pull back and obediently lets it pool around his tongue.

 

Dongyoung barely spares a second to collect himself before pulling out and pushing two fingers into Taeyong’s mouth like he’s trying to force him to swallow.  Taeyong doesn’t need the encouragement, but it’s nice to have something back in his mouth.

 

The fingers slide back out of his mouth clean.  The saliva makes him feel cold as Dongyoung holds his face still, and that dampness makes Taeyong feel filthy.  Ordinarily, his skin would crawl. But his usual anxieties are muted now, blanketed by a heavy haze that Dongyoung keeps him suspended in.  All he can think about is the feeling of Dongyoung at the back of his throat, thick and heavy, turning him raw from the inside out.

 

He might start crying again if he doesn’t come soon.

 

“Touch me?” Taeyong begs.  “Please?”

 

The fingers at his cheek slide down to press against his bruised bottom lip.  Dongyoung seems to be cataloging every detail of Taeyong, red-faced, mouth redder, a sheen of sweat and spit and cum making him glow under the fluorescent lights.  It’s so gentle and almost serene that the slap comes as a complete surprise to Taeyong.

 

He stumbles a bit, bracing himself against the floor with one hand as the other moves to grip his cock without even thinking about it.  

 

“Ah,” Dongyoung makes it sound like a laugh, “Taeyongie really _is_ desperate, huh?”

 

“Yes,” Taeyong grits out, eyes squeezed shut and head bowed, but he doesn’t move his hand.  “Please.”

  
“You think I’m going to touch something as dirty as you?”

 

Taeyong’s face burns, his eyes well with fresh tears, and his hand tightens.  

 

“Color?” Dongyoung asks.  It’s the softest his voice has been since he locked the door.

 

“Green,” Taeyong whispers through his wrecked voice.  And then, because he knows Dongyoung will scold him otherwise, he clears his throat and repeats it louder.  “ _Green_.”

 

“Well, then,” Dongyoung says with a firmness back in his voice, something haughty and cold.  Amused and mean. “If you want to come, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

 

Which means, of course, Dongyoung will be watching.  A shudder pushes down Taeyong’s spine. Letting Dongyoung take him apart was easy.  But this – he’d have no guidance, nothing to ground him. Taeyong’s only protest is a wordless whine in the back of his throat.

 

And it’s absurd, because how hard can jerking off be?  But it feels like a test when Dongyoung’s eyes are on him.  It feels like a challenge.

 

“Go ahead,” Dongyoung prompts, “I’m waiting.”

 

It’s an awkward, stuttering start.  Taeyong grasps himself and gives his cock a few tugs, trying to find a normal rhythm even as his body thrums with an excess of energy.  And Dongyoung, the bastard, seems to be enjoying his discomfort.

 

They stay like that for a while, Taeyong kneeling beneath Dongyoung as Dongyoung stands above him and strokes his hair, gives him orders, _faster, slower, now stop – I said stop.  Good boy, you can move again._ So Taeyong doesn’t expect it when, suddenly, Dongyoung drops to his knees.

 

There’s still a difference in their sizes when they’re on level ground, especially with Taeyong hunching over.  But even when Dongyoung wraps a gentle hand around his throat and suddenly yanks him upright, Taeyong feels smaller and delicate.  Breakable.

 

“Green,” he wheezes before Dongyoung can even ask.  “Dongyoung, _please–_ ”

 

The door rattles under another bout of knocking, and Dongyoung’s hand tightens around Taeyong’s throat.

 

“You’d better hurry,” Dongyoung says.  His grip is firm and his mouth is right at Taeyong’s ear, lips brushing the metal piercing in the cartilage.  “You’re keeping those nice people waiting.”

 

Taeyong would love to bite back and remind Dongyoung that it’s _his_ fault they’re doing this here, but it’s hard to get a word in with the firm pressure around his throat.

 

“Or maybe,” Dongyoung continues, “You want them to come in.”

 

 _No, no, no._  Taeyong tries to shake his head even as his body flushes hot and his hand moves faster.

 

“Getting your throat fucked isn’t enough?  My Yongie wants everyone to see him like this.”

 

Fucking disrespectful _brat_ –

 

“I think I’d like that, too.”

 

Oh, shit.

 

“Then everyone would know that the prettiest boy here tonight is all mine.”

 

 _Yours_ , Taeyong tries to choke out, and Dongyoung releases his grip at once.  Blood rushes back to Taeyong’s head so quickly that his vision fades out and he stops stroking himself so he can cling to Dongyoung’s arms.

 

“Oh,” Dongyoung sighs, voice somehow still sharp and clear through the haze in Taeyong’s brain, “That was close, wasn’t it?  You were almost there. Breathe slowly, Taeyongie – slower! There, that’s better. You’re doing so well.”

 

There are more tears now, soaking into Dongyoung’s shirt where Taeyong is hiding his face.  

 

“Do you think you can do it again?” Dongyoung asks against the crown of his head.  Someone is knocking on the door again, but all Taeyong can think about is the way one of Dongyoung’s big hands is running down his back in a soothing line.

 

It takes a moment, but Taeyong pulls himself back and nods.

 

“Then go on,” Dongyoung allows, and Taeyong’s hand starts moving again immediately.  The wet sounds seem to echo in the bathroom, so loud Taeyong’s mind doesn’t even register the pounding bass from the other side of the door.  His head is bowed in submission as he curls close to Dongyoung’s warmth and races towards his orgasm.

 

The hand finds its way back around his neck and pressure is applied carefully but firmly.  It forces Taeyong to look up, but he can’t make out anything beyond blurred shapes through his watering eyes.  He feels a tear fall from one of his lashes to skid down his cheek like a shooting star. Dongyoung follows it with his eyes and kisses it dry.

 

“You must be close,” he says just as Taeyong’s toes start curling in his boots.  “Show me you’re mine.”

 

Taeyong comes with his eyes shut tight and Dongyoung’s hand around his neck.  There’s nothing but the two of them – no noise outside the door, no humming fluorescent bulb, no dirty bathroom floor under his knees.  There’s just Taeyong’s body burning hot and high, and Dongyoung keeping him earthbound.

 

It’s hard to recall much of what happens next.  He simply sits with his eyes closed and lets his breathing fall back into a normal rhythm for what feels like hours.  His eyes are closed, but he can hear the distant noises of Dongyoung moving around the bathroom. Something wet touches his face, and he flinches away until a warm hand holds him steady.

 

Dongyoung is cleaning him, he realizes, getting the worst of the filth from his face.  It ends after a moment and Taeyong braces himself with his hands flat on the floor to deal with the loss.  He feels something there, like a blanket.

 

It’s warm between his fingers, and it takes a moment for him to recognize the wool fabric as Dongyoung’s flannel shirt.  So he yanks it out from under his ass and buries his face in it. It doesn’t smell amazing or anything – mostly like sweat and the lingering trace of mostly-worn-off cologne.  But it makes him feel more awake to breath it in.

 

A sigh brings him back into the present.

 

“I put that down so you wouldn’t have to sit on the nasty bathroom floor while I cleaned up your mess, Taeyongie.”

 

Ah.  Dongyoung is scolding him.  But it’s different from before.  It’s less cruel and more fond. And when Taeyong opens his eyes and peeks up over the fabric, Dongyoung’s scowl twitches and falls away into a soft smile.

 

“Come on.  Up.”

 

The roar of the bar is deafening the second Dongyoung pulls him out into the dark hallway.  Taeyong hardly registers an angry stranger standing in front of them until Dongyoung is saying something to him, feeding him some excuse about how he’s _sorry, my friend got sick and I had to take care of him._

 

They wander slowly through the crowded room.  It’s peak hours, and people keep knocking into them, but Dongyoung holds them close together.  Taeyong expects to be lead back to the booth where some of their friends are still gathered, but he finds himself outside instead.  The fresh air is like ice cold water in the dead of summer, and Taeyong drinks it in like he’ll choke without it.

 

He doesn’t remember the cab ride home, or stumbling through the front door of their empty apartment, or having his clothes gently peeled off.  The next thing he knows, he’s sitting in a bathtub full of warm water.

 

Despite everything, Taeyong hates the filth.  Not the degradation – the actual dirtiness that comes with what he and Dongyoung sometimes do.  In the moment, he isn’t in the right head space to worry about it. But afterwards, it can get to him.  

 

So Dongyoung always does this for him, lays him down in the bathtub and makes sure every inch of his body is scrubbed clean.  He gets the back of his neck, his ankles, in between his toes. He kisses his fingertips and says stupid things he never says when Taeyong is all there.

 

And then, when Taeyong finally comes all the way back down from his high, he starts splashing water at Dongyoung.  Dongyoung sputters and splashes him back, and soon they’re both soaked and the bathroom floor is covered in puddles.  So they pull the plug on the bathtub and crowd under the shower head instead.

 

When they’re out, Dongyoung sets to work trying to ruffle Taeyong’s hair dry with a towel.

 

“You’re gonna damage my hair,” Taeyong whines.

 

Dongyoung redoubles his efforts.  “Your hair is already damaged. Stop straightening it so much!”

 

Taeyong wrestles the towel out of his hands and then loops it around the back of Dongyoung’s neck to drag him close and plant a small kiss on his lips.  “Your turn.”

 

Dongyoung pouts the entire time Taeyong ruffles his hair clean.

 

Their bedroom is small, with the bed taking up most of the floor space.  Taeyong flops down on the clean sheets and wriggles on his stomach like a lazy slug to reach his phone on the bedside table.  There’s a slew of texts asking where he and Dongyoung got off too, and he feels a bit guilty for ditching everyone without a word.

 

More than that, though, he realizes he dragged Dongyoung away from a good night out.

 

“You can still head back if you want,” Taeyong offers over his shoulder at where Dongyoung is pulling on a pair of pajama pants.  “Yuta and Sicheng are still at the bar. They’re asking about you.”

 

Dongyoung crawls onto the bed and drops a kiss on Taeyong’s shoulder.  “And leave you alone after all that?”

 

“I’m fine,” Taeyong assures him.  “I swear, I’m not even achy anymore.”

 

“Old Man Yong is always achy these days,” Dongyoung teases.

 

“Hey, fuck you,” Taeyong jabs a finger in his direction.  “It’s totally normal for your knees to pop every time you kneel down when you’re in your twenties.”

 

“If you say so,” Dongyoung says.  But then his smile droops a little and he says,  “But it’s cool. I don’t really feel like being out tonight after…  That guy.”

 

Taeyong squints at Dongyoung in confusion for a second before he suddenly remembers how this whole thing started.

 

“It really hurt your feelings,” he realizes, “Didn’t it?  I just did it to get you to pay attention to me.”

 

Dongyoung averts his eyes.  Guilty. “Just ask next time,” he huffs.  “I can’t read your mind, Taeyong. Just ask for what you want.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong puts his phone aside, because this conversation suddenly feels kind of important.  “Honestly, I am. But sometimes, I don’t know what I want until you give it to me.”

And then Dongyoung tries to shove him off the bed.  “Flattery is a tool of deception!”

 

“I’m being honest!” Taeyong wails, clinging to the bedsheets with one leg failing an inch off the floor while Dongyoung continues to nudge him off the edge with his feet.  “Doyoungie, you’re killing me!”

 

There’s suddenly a hand gripping the back of his shirt, pulling him back into the safety of Dongyoung’s arms.

 

“Just saying, you can _talk_ to me,” Dongyoung murmurs into the back of his neck.  They’re spooning now, Dongyoung’s big lanky body wrapping around Taeyong’s.  He feels like an armadillo or something, maybe a turtle, and Dongyoung is his shell.  It’s a stupid thought to have. Downright ridiculous. But he feels safe here.

 

“Talk in the morning,” Taeyong yawns.  “Cuddles now.”

 

“Bossy,” Dongyoung scolds, but doesn’t budge an inch.

 

“You called the shots earlier, so it’s my turn now.”

 

They could go back and forth like this all night, and they do.  Someone stumbles into the apartment at some point – probably Jaehyun – but they pay him no mind as they talk and talk and Taeyong yawns so much that his eyes start to water.  Eventually, Dongyoung runs his fingers through Taeyong’s hair and tells him, _sleep_.

 

The next minute, Taeyong is dreaming.

**Author's Note:**

> upside down smiley face emoji


End file.
